


The other side of the coin

by Lachanophobic



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Challenges, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fame, Growing Up Together, Humor, Romance, Slice of Life, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic
Summary: She's not escaping from a life made of luxury to fall into another pit made of snobbish champagne-drinkers and billionaires bathed in gold. She was there to just fulfill an old pact made with her sister a long, long time ago.So why, out of everyone, had she to meethim?A bad encounter. A sizzling challenge.And her world flips upside down.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Tights Briefs/Raditz
Comments: 167
Kudos: 133





	1. Flip it

**Author's Note:**

> As some of you might already know, this is the accidental result of a half sleepless night. In which my brain had fun farting oneiric plots in the only moment I was passed out in dreamland. 
> 
> Yes. I know. There are other fics I'm writing. No, I won't stop writing them or this one. I just had to follow my guts and give life to a new project because, you know, plot bunnies are hard to reject. 
> 
> This is a prologue. The plot is pretty much all laid out and hopefully, you'll have fun reading it as much as I enjoy writing! 
> 
> A big thanks to Rogue for beta-ing this chapter. I love you bby.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Happy Birthday to me!" She clapped her hands in front of the most succulent eye candy a woman could wish for: five pounds of glistening, mouth-watering steak; caramel-seared on the edges and butter-like under the knife. A satisfied moan escaped her lips at the first mouthful, so heartfelt that the waiter passing by her hit a wall face first on his course back to the kitchen. 

_Meat_ like this was a treat she allowed herself just on special occasions. It had become a sort of _tradition_ since she left home at seventeen, wanting to search for independence in a life built from scratch and away from _Daddy's wallet._ She still struggled to make ends meet due to her reckless jumping among different jobs, but she was in her twenties, hot and free. What else could she wish for?

_Another steak,_ she sighed inwardly, dabbing the last remnants of the sauce from the empty dish with the soft part of the bread. It was nice to consume a meal knowing you poured sweat in order to buy it. Hard-earned stuff did have a different taste, indeed. 

The pleasurable chattering of the patrons accompanied her reluctant procession toward the counter, where the creepiest cashier she'd ever seen smiled at her wallet as soon as she opened it. _No tips for you, man._ She quirked a lip in a lopsided smile and left what she owed on the plate, gaining a tiny grunt from the hopeful creep.

Now all she had left in her purse was an empty wallet, a couple of mags and the only expensive thing left from her days of yore. Well… that cellphone _was_ expensive when it came out eight years ago. She'd just make her way back to the office, pass through the closest park, admire the discoloring process of dying autumnal leaves and _pretend_ to enjoy the sight. Then catch a coffee at Tights' and head straight to her boring secretary spot, waiting for someone to sexually harass her or ask for prints they didn't even need. Yup, _best job ever._

She burrowed into her super-long knit scarf, tugging away the strands of hair caught in the warm twist of wool. Lately, she had noticed, more... heard of… that her posture had changed from walking chin up to literally staring at the ground. Some wannabe psychologist- _not_ had sworn she did that because she was a shy and insecure bitch. She'd rather let them believe that than admit she switched to watching the ground because it's easier to find errant bucks that way.

However, that was also the easiest way to avoid eye contact with people who might recognize her as the escapee heiress of a multi-billionaire company. Moving to another town… island, more specifically, had undoubtedly decreased the possibilities for others to find out, she was basically a nobody here. But it wasn't _that_ big of a place and the thread mill was faster than fast. She wondered how Tights managed to keep her identity buttoned up.

"Oh right! Tights!" Coffee. Sister. Break almost ending. 

Maybe it was because of her _super-long scarf,_ or the misplaced foot - that bitchy heel sticking in that stupid manhole maybe - but her ankle twisted in such a painful way that she didn't even notice swinging and caving into gravity. 

The next thing she saw, was the world upside down, a pair of lugubrious eyes staring at her and the uncomfortable sensation of having experienced her first casquet, which in movies always looked so dreamy and romantic, but in reality, was invented by Satan to break backs. 

"Ow," she lamented, not sure if it was because of her ankle or her spine. "...Uhm...hi?" She attempted a polite smile, which on the contrary, came out as a crooked grimace. 

The upside-down man merely lifted the corner of his mouth in a disgusted sneer, pushing her up and away, as if she were a bag of trash. 

"Hey! Woah!" Without a leeway, she was forced to jump on her good foot to evade further damage. "Way to treat a lady, bud. Pretty sure chivalry died with the last neanderthal man, but how about _not_ starting a new form of assholery movement with me?"

Whoever was in front of her, cocked an unimpressed black brow, and reached for the back pocket of his… oh, were those leather pants? Flipped open his wallet and… handed… her… fifty bucks?

She stared at the bills, at the man, and at the bills again. "What?"

"Here's your chivalry. Now scram and don't tell anybody."

She wasn't sure if what had just trespassed the confines of that pretentious mouth was an auditory hallucination or he had really said what he said.

"Wh… Wh…" It didn't take much to truly, _truly,_ understand what that was about. It became clear when she raised inadvertently her gaze to the gigography on the screen right behind the man, featuring a promo with the same exact ugly mug she was staring at, painted all over it.

"Are you deaf?" He flapped the bills between his fingers in front of her rapidly reddening face. 

"No. I have exquisite hearing, you swagass! That's not chivalry, it's charity!" She slapped the money away, which flew off his hand and on the ground. 

He didn't even look at it, but instead stared at her, seemingly at the same time both affronted and uncaring… if such a thing were even possible. 

"Whatever. Feel honored that it comes from me." 

" _Oh?_ _Oh?!_ Sorry? Who the fuck _are you_?" 

As a response he laughed in her face. An Irritating, demonic laughter that stung her ears and pride. "As if you don't know. Take the money," he looked at her up and down for a few seconds. "You seem in _dire_ need of it." 

When the last syllable scorched the chilly wind, the tip of her shoe was already meeting his balls. 

Both of them exchanged a wide-eyed glance; in which she probably looked like a crazy psycho and he was the best work of art of twisted pain she'd ever seen in the museum of life. 

Whilst he trembled, refusing to double over, she showed her middle finger and fled. 


	2. How to deal with the unexpected and all the crap that floats around

He was pretending not to notice the way the chauffeur looked at him through the rearview mirror; while trying to stifle back pathetic amusement, behind a fake cough. Instead of acknowledging the imbecile, he kept staring outside and at the reflection of his apparent, unbothered face. However, his fingers tightened around the ice pack between his legs instinctively, crushing the cubes inside it with all the strength he possessed. 

Never, _never_ in his life had he been so humiliated. Or… caught off guard by such a childish… childish…

The man in the front seat let a chuckle escape, literally snapping his already teetering patience, in two. "Do you know what _I do_ find funny?" The timbre in his voice didn't change, it stayed firm and calibrated. 

It was enjoyable, watching the tension hit the driver's shoulders, who merely stammered a 'sir?' 

"That tonight I'll be getting home, uncork the finest Chateau Haut, I'll lie on my couch and _laugh_ , remembering how _hilarious_ your expression was when I said _: 'you're fired_.'" 

"Sir…"

"Drop me off and don't show up _ever again."_

It really was soothing, observing how easy it was to break someone. How extremely delightful it made him feel seeing that insufferable, fixed smile wither away, replaced by _hate_. _How does it feel to be powerless?_ His lips slanted upwards, a treacherous line brightened by the passing lights of the lampposts. _I wouldn't know._

Others' pain allayed his own, both physically and mentally. In fact, he relaxed, throwing the ice pack on the leather seat next to him and retrieved his cellphone; deciding to focus on his upcoming schedule. 

Never getting to it, because the _sixteen_ lost calls from his manager caught his eyes first. 

He shrugged, just dialing back. 

_"Oh finally! Man?! I've been calling you for hours!"_

_"Even my mother would know that I do not work off hours. And I don't have a mother."_

_"The hell are you doing, kid? You're all over the news!"_

_"Am I not ever?"_

_"Not your balls!"_

Suddenly, the coolness of that ice pack was all over his body; freezing every muscle to the bone. The car's window now reflected just his wide open eyes. A moment later he was furiously running his finger on the screen, where a thousand headlines all recited ' _multi-prized actor-producer assaulted in broad daylight: fanatic extremism or tumultuous lovers' quarrel?'_

**_Never._ **

His hands trembled, strangling the contraption in his hand until the screen cracked under the pressure.

_'Exclusive: here are the pictures of Vegeta's secret flame.'_

**Never had he been…**

His jaw tensed. Teeth screeched against each other.

_'Vegeta's secret wife revealed.'_

**So ashamed…**

_'Divorce from the mysterious girl.'_

**In all his fucking life.**

" _You_." The deep fury rumbling out of his throat made the driver jump.

"S-sir?" 

"Spin up this fucking car and go back where you picked me up." He stared at the picture that just came on the screen, eyes spitting fire, " _this_ instant."

He was going to find that bitch, even if it cost him all goddamn night.

\---

When she managed to get off work, the sky had blended into a darker shade. Her feet felt sore, her stomach grumbled and her mood was fifty meters under piles of crap. "This is the greeeeatest way to hit twenty four." She probably shouldn't be complaining, to the sad bag of cupcakes she had pilfered from the break room. Or out loud, to random people on the sidewalk, who gave no fucks about the misery of having broken a xerox, having to listen to her boss going on about it for a whole hour, seeing her paycheck curtailed because of that and having to know how the ginormous diamond on the ring finger of the zine's manager made her the luckiest woman in the world. _Who gives a damn?_

As it hadn't been enough the mortification she'd suffered a few hours ago. Oh, she _truly_ hoped that at least that bigot asshole was suffering hell. At least she'd got to frame that nice expression in the back of her mind. And it was enough to close her eyes and repeat that single moment countless times to cheer her up a smidgen.

"I really just want to go home…" her shoulders slumped. But her feet had, instead, dragged her in front of her sister's house. Maybe she'd just crash there for the night, and watch a tear-jerking movie together with her, whilst eating the worst cupcakes ever. 

Sighing, she searched for the spare keys of the apartment in her purse, hauling herself into the elevator. It was sooo nice to have stuff like that instead of boring stairs. While at it, she removed her heels on her way up, continuing toward the flat barefoot, when the doors dinged open.

"Hey Tights, I sincerely hope you've not thrown a surprise party just be...ca..."

When the door opened, what she saw was also the onliest thing she had hoped to never witness in her life. 

Her bags feel on the floor. And at the same moment, the tangled mess of limbs on top of the dinner table stopped its… savage creaking.

Two heads shot up at once, blinking at her. One of them was indeed Tights. The other chaotic weave of black, spiky hair belonged to a stranger she'd never seen before. Definitely naked and with his pee-pee still stuck where… she didn't want to see.

"Oh, hey Bulma. Happy birthday!" She wished brightly, totally uncaring that she'd just been caught riding a man in the middle of her apartment.

"Hey babe, you didn't talk about a threesome. I ain't got enough condoms for that." The other whispered, receiving a giggle as a response.

"I am… uh…" she tried not to stare at the rippling, sweaty house of muscles that was the man under her sister. But it revealed to be quite a feat, with her bumbling mouth hanging open trying to fish for intelligible words, her brain refused to give.

"Going out for a walk." 

Whilst her sister pushed her man away, trying to say something, she stepped back, slowly closing the door in her own face. 

However, she didn't move an inch after that.

Happy birthday… indeed.


	3. Of Fried Lambs and Divorces

The apartment was immersed in a surreal stillness, in which she sat on the couch like a struck chord - pint-in-hand, of which she hadn't taken a sip yet - and gazed resolutely at the nice tribal carpet on the floor.

The only other sound, besides Tights ravenously munching on those cheap cupcakes she'd stolen from work, was the tapping of running water in the bathroom.

"So… um…" Bulma twirled the glass in her hands, eyeing self-consciously the green door at the farthest corner of the flat. "Where… did you guys meet?"

"Oh, press release" her sister continued to eat, sounding completely oblivious to _her_ embarrassment. "You know, my author was presenting her new book-" she traced circles in the air with the fork, "he was in the next room… doing…" she stopped brusquely, looking up as if trying to remember something "...whatever he was supposed to do and we sorta hit it off. Isn't he hot?"

" _That_ he is." She finally raised her gaze toward her half-naked sister, who was currently just wearing a tank top and a pair of panties. Genuinely amazed by her kin's conquest, Bulma gave her a coquettish smile, eyes squeezed half-mast, twinkling coltishly. "I didn't expect that from _you_." Leaning in, she slapped her hand on the other's knee, playfully. 

"I knooow!" The other squirmed, giggling in response.

"Though I'd rather have met him with his clothes _on_." 

Tights brought a hand to screen her malicious mouth "and you've not seen his best part _yet_."

"And that's exactly what I _don't_ want to see. Like, ever. Okay, I think it's time we start to put boundaries between what sisters can share and not share. Men are not dolls."

"Who talked about sharing? I was just kindly letting you take a peek since you haven't seen a penis since… uh… elementary school?"

"Hey, that's not true! Remember Yamcha?"

"Oh yeah sorry, _high school_ then. Even if I wouldn't call painting his nails having sex."

"I didn't-"

"Yo, ladies." Before she had time to retort, the mysterious press-conference-slash-sex-friend appeared on the bathroom's door. Bulma found herself ogling him from head to toe, her eyes wide like saucers. Totally comfortable with himself, he strolled toward them clad in nothing but what she assumed might be Tights' bathrobe - given the flowery pattern - which was barely long enough to cover his family jewels.

He flashed her a toothy smirk and then wrapped his biceps… quadriceps… and all those fleshy things ending with -eps around her sister's neck. She bent backward and welcomed the wettest kiss Bulma had ever witnessed in her whole life.

She watched, transfixed, at those tongues darting in and out as if it was a magic spell. Until… it _dispelled,_ and she moved her gaze away, disturbed by her own staring.

"Not to interrupt your… ravaging makeout but," she stammered, "can't you wait, let's say, the time it'll get me to gather my sad belongings and make it to the door?"

Tights pushed the man away, laughing as if she'd just told the funniest joke. "Nonono, sorry, sorry. We'll behave. Right, Raditz?"

Bulma turned slowly toward the man, who was now looking at her with a funny expression. 

A moment later, both of them were pointing at each other. Mouths agape.

"Son's brother?!"

"The divorced psycho! Wait, what? You know my brother?"

Tights shot up from where she sat. "Bulma?! Were you married?" Then whipped her head back to Raditz. "And wait, are you Goku's brother?!"

Bulma quirked a brow. "What? No!"

Raditz departed momentarily from the room, returning immediately afterwards with his phone in hand.

"Know my bro?" He continued, scrolling a search engine as if he wasn't standing before a befuddled audience. "Haven't seen him in years, how's he doing?" 

"I don't know! What the Hell do you mean with _divorced psycho_?"

Tights sat down back on the couch, retrieving her meal and watching them like she'd watch a movie. "Oh now, I can't absolutely miss this."

After a beat, Raditz showed his phone to the women, and whilst Tights squealed at the picture, Bulma screamed in horror. "Wh… what the hell am I doing there?! And since when does kicking a man in the balls make you his wife?"

"Maybe some people still think relationships might work like they did billions of years ago, and have something to do with how hard you conk your chosen one on the head, _whatever head_." Raditz pointed out, giving her a crooked smirk. 

"Oh, _thank you History Channel_!" She bristled.

"You're welcome." He guffawed.

"Hey, how come you didn't invite me, your sister, to your wedding? I'm offended." 

"He's not, was not...ugh! Knock it off, both of you! I met him in a random street, and he was an asshole so I kicked him in the nuts. Ok? That's all there is to it! More importantly, why am _I_ in the press?!"

“Because he’s _Vegeta_? Duh.” Both Raditz and Tights responded, in unison.

“And who the fuck, pray tell, is _Vegeta_?”

The couple stared at each other, then returned on Bulma, looking at her as if she’d been living under a rock. 

“An actor!” Tights said.

“My client.” Raditz asserted, puffing up his chest. "Well… ex. Looks like he divorced many of us."

“Okay, okay. This is bad, oh so bad, oh so super-mega-hyper bad,” Bulma dipped her forehead in her hand, massaging her eyes to try to process rationally what had just transpired; which, to her ears, was starting to sound unreal. “I already got the hint he was somehow ‘famous’ by the sheer quantity of posters spread around the town but… _how much_ exactly?”

“Oh, hugely famous. You know, ‘you-can-fill-a-stadium-with-his-academy-awards’ famous.” Tights nodded.

“Yeah, or ‘you-want-me-to-act-in-this-lousy-movie-to-hell-with-it-poor-loser’ famous.” Raditz followed up, scratching his chin. “Yup, he’s really a gasbag. I see why you’d want to kick him in the lamb fries. But let me tell you, gurl, that you sure have got a huge pair.”

Whatever they said after that became a blurry and incoherent soundtrack of _blahblablahs._ So much for keeping up a low-profile for all these years, just to see it shattered by her proud vagina thinking instead of her head. “Oh no, no, no, no, no. This is a _disaster_. Now everyone will recognize me.”

“Wait, wait!” Tights pointed her fork at her, missing her arm by an inch, “Bulma, the paparazzi just took a shot of your head. See? I mean, it’s not like you’re the only weird-colored girl around here, right? Dying hair with bright hues is a trend nowadays. It could be anybody.”

“Yeah, but looks like Mr. Sherlock here got me at a glance?”

“I’m a _talent scout_ , doll. My eyes are _made_ to spot _details_. Did you ever think of-” 

“No. And don’t even finish the sentence, _thank you_.” 

“Pshhh." He waved his hand "Piping hot, are we? What was that about people recognizing you, though?” The man queried, intrigued. 

“Nothing. If you don’t know, you’re better off _not knowing_ .” She sighed. Well, at least she was still anonymous for _one_ person in the room, and it was better than nothing. “Does this asshole work for you, then? If so, you must keep your mouth scotched, man.” Standing, she shortened the distance between her and her sister’s fling. “One word out of your mouth and your _best quality_ will turn into _your worse_. If you don’t understand what I mean, look at the picture again.”

Raditz shivered for a second but didn’t budge. Instead, his eyes smiled mischievously. “I’ll keep my trap shut if I gain something in return.”

Oh, fantastic. Threats. She eyed her sister, who was now innocently filling her glass with beer. She shrugged and nodded toward Raditz like she was knowing… something.

“I don’t tell if you don’t tell. Actually, your sister and I are planning a sort of runaway. You know, a couple of weeks just for us maybe in a hot place where we can fuck every day and stuff.”

“What? Tights?” She turned her head so fast that it almost snapped from her neck, “is he for real? No, are you _for real_? What… what about your jobs? And-”

“Well, about that…” she smiled sloppily, reaching Raditz and wrapping her arms around his waist. “you know, we thought you could… Uhm…” she started to draw circles on the pecs peeking from the bathrobe, and veered guiltily her gaze away, “take some calls, run some errands here and there-- I was going to ask you tomorrow but-”

“Oi, oi, oi. What? I mean… _what_ ?! No. No, it’s out of the question! I’m not covering for _both of you_ just because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“It’s just working as our temporary fill-in. It's your job, after all. You’re a secretary. We’ll pay for you!”

“What’s with all of you and this habit of slipping random bills into my pants today? I don’t want _money_! Not from you or from that--- ugh!”

“You don’t tell, _we_ don’t tell.” Raditz sing-songed, allowing himself a fast peck on Tights’ shoulder.

“I… I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me _this,_ the day of my birthday!” She threw her hands in the air, walking in a circle around the couch. 

“It's past midnight so, _technically,_ it’s not your birthday anymore.” Raditz corrected.

Bulma gritted her teeth, and glared at Tights. "Can you re-stick your tongue into this man's mouth and mute him?!"

Tights disentangled from Raditz and got closer to her sister, "I know we're asking a lot." She put both her hands on her shoulders and, at that, Bulma interrupted her rabid walk of shame. "Listen, it doesn't have to be right now. And I know what you're thinking. I'm _not_ breaking our promise, and I will never do that. It's just…" she eyed Raditz from the corner of her eyes, and hooked Bulma under her shoulder, lowering her voice. "He's the best thing that happened to me in a while. Scratch that, _ever._ But it's hard to stay together like this. You saw that, right? How fast information flies around. So, you don't _have_ to do this. Just… think about it?" 

Bulma breathed in slowly, shrugging Tights away. "You met him _three days_ ago. The best thing? Really? Do you even know him that well-"

"I don't need to." She cut her off, without hesitation. "You know well what I mean. It's not a matter of time. We have chemistry, it's like… you start talking with someone and _bam,_ you have the impression you haven't done everything else for all your life. Like you know him without really knowing anything. I know, it's crazy but… it's me? It's us, it's two people really wanting this, so much that it hurts."

"Oh... wow." Bulma stared at the couch wide-eyed, at loss of words and her chest feeling all fuzzy. "I… didn't think it meant so much for you." Or that something like this could even exist outside novels or movies. One side of her, had this warm, cozy feeling growing in her belly, like when you see a chest of super cute kittens or get praise for something you've worked hard on. The other side wanted to somehow protect her big sister. How could she be sure that this dude was going to cherish her? That wasn't going to hurt her? He was Goku's brother, the same skinny guy that bullied his peers when they were kids. The same guy who left his brother behind, shouting in his face that he was weak. That watched other kids beat him. Did men really change from childhood? What did she know? 

But again, who was she to decide what was good or bad for others when her own life was chaos at its finest?

"Okay." She gave up, sighing, "I'll think about it."

Tights hugged her.

\---

Someone knocked on the door and, upon receiving no response, unlocked the door and let their head poke inside.

He didn't even turn his head, one elbow on one knee and a glass of grappa balanced on the other. On the low table in front of him, a whole bottle had been emptied long before. 

He was watching the news channel like how an angry dog would stare at another peer before a brawl. 

"Oh for fucks' sake Vegeta, are you drunk?" The burly, tall and bald man came in without waiting for an invitation, and strode near the actor too fast and too unguarded for his own good.

The black haired star, whose fire in the eyes could be just topped by the unique style of his hair, moved his gaze slantwise. One glance. Just one and Nappa froze where he was.

"Oh man, I even got on my knees earlier. I'm sorry, okay? But _we had_ to lock you in here, because you went berserk and started running out in the streets like a murderer. You're lucky someone didn't spot you, because you know how much _that_ would damage your reputation?"

"My... reputation…" he repeated, slowly. "My reputation?!" Standing up abruptly, he threw the glass at Nappa, who dodged it just in time to evade brain damage. "My reputation is already in shambles, you fucking asshole! That bitch jeopardized it. Her and your inability to tune down toxic gossip!" 

"You want to kill me?! Good, do it after _listening_ at least. I've been checking in with every single journal, website and whatnot to find the motherfucker who published this picture, for the past six hours! We've got it under control, and most of them accepted to withdraw the content."

"You know what can you do with your withdrawal? Wipe your ass with it!" He turned away, the creaking of the floor under his boots just feeding his mounting crankiness. "You bunch of incompetent losers don't get that it's too late. Half of the goddamn world has seen it. That is why, I want the identity of that woman" he slammed his hand on the wooden surface under him, following each syllable **"on. this. fucking. table**!" 

"Identity? Vegeta, that's against the policy of-"

The actor lit himself a cigarette, throwing the empty carton behind his back. His black eyes raised to meet Nappa's. "Do I look like someone who gives a rat's ass about policy?" He whispered, moving toward the viewing window through which the scorching sun had started to bleed into the vast ocean ahead.

Nappa let himself fall on a nearby armchair and the leather snarled under his weight. He rubbed his temples, sighing. "I'll do whatever I can."

The other man puffed out a long string of condensed smoke. "Oh no, Nappa. You'll do whatever _I_ ask." He put out the cigarette against the windowpane.

\---

The next morning, she had woken up to Tights crushing her body in a bodybuilder’s vise. She had begged her to stay the night and had sent Raditz on the couch, and he didn’t even seem too mad about that. She had seen why, just after her body remembered how dangerous was sleeping with her sister - like when they were kids. They were both prone to fling their limbs around, and usually winded up bruised and with scratches all over the body.

Breakfast had been nice. Raditz was surprisingly skilled with eggs, _well, just that-_ and Tights had even found an old birthday candle in one of the many kitchen drawers and had stuck it on Raditz’s ugly - but somehow tasty - omelette. They had sung ‘happy belated birthday’ to her; with Goku’s brother occasionally replacing words with sexual innuendos. 

After that, she’d departed from her sister’s house, headed toward that pillory common people dared to call a _job_. 

However, that picture kept coming back in the back of her mind. Truth was, she hadn’t slept a wink. Even though Tights and Raditz had insisted that in no way she could be recognized just by looking at the back of her head, paranoia had seized her otherwise confident mood, prompting her to hide the bright aquamarine of her hair beneath her scarf.

She couldn’t help but feeling observed, as if people knew but didn’t tell. As if in every corner there was someone watching her, judging her. _Oh, fuck off. This is absurd!_ She tried to convince herself that the little island was inhabited by people who knew shit about her family, kilometers and kilometers away from West City and her old, uppity life.

She quickly raised her wrist to check the time.

It was eight in the morning when the quadrant of her watch reflected a very distinct silhouette.

She looked up, horrified.

He quirked a brow behind shades, and the left side of his lip tugged upwards, strangely delighted. “You ran away so fast yesterday, that I bet you were looking for the crystal slipper you left attached to my balls. Worry not, _Bulma Briefs_. As you can see, your _Prince_ has come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful [Rogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102) for beta-ing my work. Go read all her works, because she rocks!


	4. Without a net

“Yeb, I gan’t gome doday - ugh, I’b about do dhrow ub. I uddesdand. Yeb. Yeb. I’m bery sorry for the shord dodice. Yez? Do!…hey...waid!” The line went mute and her shoulders sagged. She unpinched her nose and twirl-flipped at the man that was now sitting like a disgusting ruler on the bar stool in her kitchen, with his even-dust-licks-my-ass showbiz expression and his two-zillion worth shoes. 

“You suck,” was the only comment his majesty felt like sharing with the world, blatantly ignoring the fact that she was glaring icicles at him.

“Oh, who cares!” She quipped, faking enthusiasm, threw her cellphone behind her - sure it’d hit the sofa just a few steps nearby - and shrugged. “I just lost my fourth job this year. Might as well allow me **to suck**! So, tell me about you. What are your hobbies, besides **trying to destroy other people’s lives**?”

That hell of a motherfucker was staring straight at her, the dark ebony of his eyes as intimidating as a brewing storm. He didn't reply, merely lifted up his leg, placing the foot on the silver ring of the stool. 

"..." She'd really like to avoid this conversation and just kick him out of the house. Pretending she hadn't flattened him against a wall and pressed a hand on his mouth the second he had pronounced her name. Pretend she hadn't told him to follow her in here in a rush of dread, falling into his trap and playing right in his court. Half of her died to know how he'd gotten ahold of that information. The other was dying to chicken out just not to reopen that old can of worms. "So? Have you come all the way downtown just to stare at my pretty face or do you have threats to throw in it? Go on. Try to buy me _again._ " Her thin eyebrows knitted at the center of her forehead. Even if she was forcing the boldest smirk on her face, she knew that the cold trail of sweat she felt on her cheek had already betrayed her real emotions. 

What he did after that was exactly what she had expected he'd do. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he produced a checkbook, flipped it open and scribbled something on it, returning his unreadable eyes on her immediately afterwards. 

"Pretty obvious, aren't you? And do you really think it will work _this_ time? Oh, is it because I lost my job? Well, let me tell you that it changes nothing. If you know who I am, you already know that I could be the one buying you if I so much wanted." The intense acrimony in her voice didn't seem to faze her interlocutor. On the contrary, instead of giving up, he tore the check, folded it and threw it on the ground at her feet. 

"Pick it up." He motioned, nodding at the paper. 

Slowly, she eyed the check and then returned on the man, grimacing at both. "No." She hoped that at least the finality in her denial would dissuade the stubborn _celebrity_ into trying to slut her down. 

He quirked a brow, clicking the pen he'd just used shut. "That is the amount you _owe_ me." 

The mouth she'd opened, ready to spit out the worst offense as comeback, quickly clipped closed. She blinked, and blinked again and shook her head, whilst her knuckles rubbed her ear. She must have heard wrong. "Sorry, come again?"

"Image damage and public assault are just the tip of the iceberg. If I were to press charges through a lawyer, I'm certain you already know what would happen." 

Every word he said bleached her skin paler and paler. That son of a bitch! She jumped on her knees to retrieve the check and roll it open. He had written just the sum on it, taking up all the space. "...this is…" her mouth hung open, as her eyes widened progressively. Her head snapped upwards, "are you fucking serious? Thirty million?!"

"Move your thumb away." He suggested, not losing an iota of composure.

"130 millions?! I absolutely do not have-"

"Oh, but _you do_." He interjected, "how could you afford to buy me _if you so much wanted,_ otherwise? Unless it's still unclear with _whom_ you are talking to." For the first time in thirty minutes, he curled up his mouth in the most annoying smirk. 

She stood up, glowering at him. "You're right. But I won't." She knew all too well, what the gist of it was. It was oh-so-easy for people to think that just knowing her name could be enough to drag her in front of a court. "Between the two, the one who doesn't know who _I am_ is you. Do you really think you'd win a trial against me?"

"Absolutely." No pause, no hesitation. What he said, and the way he said, it spoke volumes of how… pompous and arrogant that man was. 

"Breach of confidentiality ring a bell? I could suck the life out of your bank account just for that." 

"Do you have proof?" He countered, unbothered.

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll find it." 

"How? Hacking into my company's system?" 

She inhaled sharply. He was telling the truth. It wasn't just her name that he knew. And she found herself cornered upon the prospect that she hadn't bothered looking up about him. Hell, she didn't even know who he was before yesterday.

"The deal is as follows: You pay in full what you owe. I'm certain there wouldn't be any issue if you called your old man and asked for liquids," he leant his elbow on the kitchen table, placing his insufferable poker face on his knuckles. "Or…" he trailed off, leaving the open option lingering in the air, his index finger brushing his mouth.

Her teeth were so clenched that her jaw hurt. It was taking all her self-control to keep her hands from shaking. She breathed slowly, as the realization that she had lost sunk into her belly. "Or…?"

"Or you can work under me until you repay your debt." 

That. It was that. He didn't care about the money, he didn't care about jeopardizing shit, all he wanted was revenge. And she could read it in his eyes, in the wicked shadow that burned in them, in the way he had her pinned under his invisible thumb. In the satisfaction of that scar on his face disguised as smirk. And it was humiliating, scorchingly so.

"Are you asking me to work for you for free?" She talked through her teeth, unable to stifle her anger anymore.

"Precisely. _Over me_ , you lose your freedom. _Under me, you keep it._ You have three days from now." He stood up, walking closer to her holding out what looked like a business card. "This is my personal number." It was the same, identical situation from twenty four hours ago. The same fingers that previously held up bills, now offered her a trap. 

She stared at him, her eyes squeezing into cutting blades of hatred. He stared back with sizzling challenge brimming in his eyes. 

"Fuck you." She said, taking the card.

"You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To stay tuned with the updates and previews (and drawings) @lachanophobicx on Twitter ;)


	5. Treats and Threats

A flock of flip-flopping demons seemed to have built a nest in her stomach, it rumbled like when she was hungry, and the liquid heat morbidly filling her chest and neck sent aftershocks of anxiety to her trembling limbs. She had gone through the remnant of the day in a sour, blue mood; had turned off her phone and curled up in bed, staring at the business card in her hand; flipping it between her fingers countless times. But surely, doing that wouldn’t turn back time. Nor would it excuse the bad choices she had made in the last couple of days. 

She flipped on her back, kicking the covers away.

The last glimmers of sun tickled at the window, projecting carousels of waterlight on the ceiling; her eyes followed the radiant display until she draped an arm over her eyes. She had grieved her incompetence enough, it was time to think of a comeback. Pushing herself up, she sat on the bed and threw the card on the mattress; glowering at it. First of all, she had three days to gather as much information as possible on that fuckup of a man; learn him inside and out, and eventually find a gap in his plans. 

Smoothly, she reached for the phone on the nightstand, turning it back on.

“Tights? You have a laptop at home right? Yeah, yeah. Who cares what I need it for?! No, stay at work. **Stay, okay?** I’ll use the spare key. Is Raditz there? Perfect. No, no. I know! I swear I’m not going to put malwares in your files. Hey! We’re not five anymore, I got way past that stage. Ok. Bye. **Bye.** ”

She smiled, stretching her hands overhead. “Time to _hack_ into _Uncle Pennybags'_ life.”

\---

“Explain to me, what _that is?"_ The apparent stillness in that man's voice was able to cut through the air like a razor, it never quite sent chills to his bones, but always tensed him up, in one way or another. 

“A mistake.” His face, turned away, seeking to hide in the dim lights of the room, where the color red stole every single shred of wall, as if someone had just slaughtered men in there. 

“A mistake?” The other man, who he once called father, moved away from the window he was facing, Vegeta wasn’t looking straight at him, but knew towards where he was moving. An old turntable, next to it a picture always sat, a picture he hadn’t looked at in ages. He’d pick it up and take in its detail without adding more.

Nappa was sitting on an armchair not too far away from the other two, his head was bent low and both his elbows laid on the armrests. He wasn’t allowed words. 

Minutes went on without any of them breathing, then, the oldest man placed the frame on the desk. “Twenty years ago I founded this company, brick by brick, sacrificing everything. _Everything_ for _you_. Money, time… _your mother._ ”

The tension in Vegeta's muscles hiked up tenfold, straining his grip on the windowsill. “Don’t drag her into…”

“ **Don’t**! _Don’t even start._ ” The sudden rise in the old man’s voice cut him off like a powerful saw, smacking him harder than a punch. “I founded this company and put _you,_ my son, at the top of it; expecting you to stay at the _top_.” He breathed in, moving near the crystal table at the center of the room and stood there; picking up a newspaper. “And this…” He crumpled it in his hand and threw it on the floor. “ **You call this a mistake? I call** **_you_ ** **a mistake!** ”

“I… have everything under control,” a hiss threaded between his teeth, “there won’t be any **repercussions on the company**.” When he looked up, he met Nappa’s gaze across the room, the gorilla shook his head, suggesting for him to keep his cool. 

The man stepped forward, and Vegeta’s focus fell on the right rugged hand that was clutching his cane, and there it stayed. Preferring to focus on anything but that motherfuckers face and spitting on it. “You know nothing about _control_. You’re just a ruff who’s still suckling the breast of my wallet and until you do, **I** decide how to handle things herein. Look at that,” he raised the cane toward Nappa, “you still come in this room with that truckler in tow, who’s the only _thing_ that keeps you from jumping at my throat.”

Vegeta closed his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, turned on his heels, towards the door. “If you’ll excuse me now.” 

“Remember this,” the warning in the old man’s voice, was one he’d heard countless times; but was still capable of freezing him on the spot. “One more strike, your brother is in and you’re out.”

Vegeta slammed the door shut behind him.

\---

The blinking light of the screen reflected on her reading glasses, the only other presence in the living room together with the dim, titian glow produced by the kitch lava lamp behind her. Her fingers had been typing on the goddamn keyboard for hours and she had yet to find something interesting, in the absolutely boring life of Vegeta _the Fourth._ What stupid stage name was that? Which was also his _real_ name, apparently, and also the name of his father. She quirked a fine brow, “what a nice fam of mucky-mucks. Bet they called their dog _Vegeta the fifth_.” But seriously? No dirty laundry? Not even a little smudge on that starched mug? Bullshit. She stared at one of the many pictures portraying the man in all of his fake, pompous perfection. Photoshopped, without a doubt. “Weeeighty connections, we have, uh? You’re all chummy-chummy with your cute upper echelons, aren’t chu, _sonofabitch_?” She smacked the lid of the laptop closed, throwing her forehead on the palm of her hand. This was bad. She went through four layers of security and found _nothing_.

The door clicked open, and a few seconds later, a half-drunk Raditz appeared on the door. They shared just a quick glance, he loosened his necktie and threw the keys on the small table at the door. “Yo?” he said, walking awkwardly inside. “Where’s your sis?”

“Still at work.” She replied lamely, stretching on the chair.

He took off his jacket, tossing it on the sofa. “Want dinner?” The man winked, lifting a bag of junk food. 

“Depends on what you got in there…" a pause, her stomach grumbled, "nah, scratch that. I’m starving.” She stood up, and whilst the human hedgehog walked in the kitchenette, rummaging in the fridge for some beer, she helped herself to the contents of the bag, which smelled like fried fish and something meaty, but at that moment filled her nostrils like veal cutlets. 

“So, uhm, got out earlier from work or what?” He tried, leaning his hip on the counter and taking a sip of beer.

“Uh, yeah, something like that.” She offered, shrugging and biting into her hamburger. “Got a drink? No beer. Something juicy.”

He laughed-scoffed and took a second beer from the fridge for her, “juice is for the kids, doll. We got just ethanol in this house.” 

“Well, no thanks. I’ll just drink from the faucet then. Your ethanol is still swimming in my head, since yesterday.” 

“Uh-oh, light drinkers are we?” He gave her a charming smile, nudging the bottle closer. 

She just wrinkled her nose. “Keep that flirting down, man. I’m your sweetheart’s sister.”

“Hey, I wasn’t flirting with you? Got a big ego there.”

She was about to sink her incisors in the soft bread, when like an epiphany, a single sentence flashed in her mind.

_“Yup, he’s really a gasbag. I see why you’d want to kick him in the lamb fries.”_

She turned slowly towards the man, who was now guzzling down the beer, like someone who’d never tasted something liquid in his life.

“You!” She pointed at him, eyes widening by the second, “it was you!”

Raditz half choked on his beer at the sudden rise in her voice, and part of the foam trickled down his neck as he coughed loudly.

“You... why… why you son of a...why would you do that?” She stalked closer to him, cornering him against the fridge. 

The man raised both his hands in defense, in front of his chest. “Hey, hey… wha...what… what are you babbling about?”

“Oh don’t you just look the other way, you lousy pile of scum. You sold me! You told him!” She was hyperventilating, beet red, and furious as she’d never been. How could she have neglected such a relevant detail? Was she too occupied pissing in her panties or hacking into shit to get that the mole was there, right under her nose?

“Ok, now you’re freaking me out. What _the hell_ are you talking about?! Ow, hey! Stop it! I use this for work and it’s the only one I have!” 

“You fucking son of a…” she slapped him with her hamburger, the BBQ sauce was a sad weapon, but surely hell to remove from that nicely-ironed, immaculate shirt. 

“Hey hey hey, what’s happening here with all the yelling? I could hear Bulma two blocks away from here. Food war? Are you two kids?” Tights dropped her bag on the floor, running to the two bickerers. Raditz had Bulma’s arm blocked in his hand, whilst she continued to trash about and call him names.

“Stop it, stop it!” Tights finally grabbed Bulma from under her arms, trying to drag her away from her saucied boyfriend.

“It was him! How can you stay with this scumbag? He sold me! He sold me!”

“Bulma, hon, calm down will you? Hey! Hey, look at me? Look at me!” She managed to turn Bulma to face her, grabbing her wrists and pulling them down slowly. “Now breathe, and tell me what’s happening please. Why are you fighting with Raditz? And why is he a scumbag?” She eyed him, toweling himself with a dish cloth and shrugging at her.

“Do you remember all the shit that happened with Vegeta yesterday? Turns out the man came to my house and knew my name and… and…”

“Breathe dearie. Breathe. Hey you, scumbag, bring water!” 

“Hey, hey, hey! I didn’t sell anyone, okay? And you’re allowed to call me that, only on your period.” He pointed out, tossing the towel in the sink and filling a glass with water. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. I swear!”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll talk about this later. Just bring her that water will you?!”

“ _Scumbag_ , _human trafficker_ _and manservant._ That’s a lot of jobs to get in five minutes _.”_ He muttered to himself, while handing the glass to Tights.

“Oh just shush and go… somewhere in the room. Make room!” She snatched the glass and looked daggers at him, Raditz raised his hands in defeat and shaking his head just moved away.

“Here. Now, can you explain to me what’s happening? Slowly.”

Bulma took the glass and drank.

\---

He ran the cold blade of the knife along her white jugular, caressing it with the flat of it and dipping his nose among her scarlet hair. "I wonder…" he breathed, deep, whilst the pale and cold body heaved on his chest like a puppet. "I wonder if the color is the same…" 

The woman in his arms was unresponsive, hypnotized, a living corpse. Slowly, whilst one finger nudged away the straps of her camisole, the blade slowly sank in the flesh of the neck, bathing her chest in crimson, vivid rivulets of blood.

"Cut! That’s a wrap for today," finally, the old, bored timbre of the director breached in the silence of the room. 

Vegeta released the woman in his arms, giving her the barest nod, before walking past the stage, where Nappa produced a towel for him. "Excellent performance. Now we have fifteen minutes for dinner and enough time to take the flight back to the studios. Thirty minutes interview and you have to meet with-"

The burly man was following him, but he didn't listen to a word he was saying. Even if at his passage many heads turned, greeting him, showering him with fake smiles and cheap pretense, his mind was still locked in that room. With his father, the man who'd dared call him a wuss. Underneath layers of well-trained indifference, his blood sizzled. 

When they both reached his changing room, the actor closed the door in Nappa's face. 

"Ouch! Come on Vegeta!" The manager whined.

"Piss off." 

The grumbling on the other side of the door announced the other man’s surrender, so he stepped away. Reaching for his collar, he unbuttoned it, loosening the knot that, since the beginning of the shooting, had been stifling him. Breathing in deeply, he dropped on the chair in front of his show mirror, staring at the reflection of the lousy star, only his father could see; because he didn’t. All he saw was a man at the peak of his career, powerful as nobody else was at his age. So why, why did his chest feel so heavy? Why did he feel like he was still struggling to reach a higher something?

He closed his eyes, massaging the lids with circular movements; the image of that morning’s paper flashed behind them and at the same time, those words came back haunting him: _“your brother is in, you’re out.”_

He had never seen his _brother._ He didn’t know how he looked like. He wasn’t even _his real_ brother. Just a bastard conceived on a drunk night. Thus, it shouldn’t bother him; in no way that old man would leave his empire to that _mutt._ He knew nothing about control? He relaxed in the chair, and throwing back his neck, looked at the ceiling. Soon enough that old shooting sperm would rethink humiliating him so. It had been a stroke of luck for him to find his cash cow so soon, a fortuitous _mistake._

“Oh, you don’t know…” he whispered, pushing his feet on the floor to make his chair roll. A diverted laugh rumbled through his chest, out loud, wickedly. “You don’t even know what _you_ have in store for me, do you _Bulma Briefs?_ ”

\---

“ _Oh... my... God."_ Tights clapped her hand on her mouth, but Bulma failed to understand if her story had shocked her sister or if it had excited her. “No way! No way! No way!” She jumped up from the couch and searched for Raditz with her gaze, who was in a corner, sipping his beer and eyeing both of them skeptically.

“I can’t believe you sold my sister. I’m going to slap you so hard.”

He didn’t seem to take her seriously, mostly, because he’d heard the same sentence at least fourteen times in the last thirty minutes; thus he just sighed; sprawling his long legs on the armchair. “Again, did nothing. Not my fault. I lost track of Vegeta ages ago.”

“Oh yeah, and it was enough knowing my name to jeopardize my life. Well, thank you man.” Bulma sniped, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously, doll. I don’t do that.” He stopped to take another sip of alcohol, “ _well, not anymore.._.” he coughed to himself.

Bulma _growled_ and he backed up against the seat. “Gurl, why would I do something like that?”

“Oh, for your little threat? Because I refused to be enslaved to let you and my sister go hard on each other’s tushies on some exotic desert island?!”

Tights and Raditz exchanged a cryptical glance, then, her kin sighed, “ok, I think it’s time to let the cat out of the bag. It was for you.” 

Bulma blinked at her, “me? What? Explain.”

“It was my idea. Since it was your birthday, I wanted to surprise you and gift you a trip. It’s been so long since you took a decent vacation from work, never stopping to enjoy yourself. If I told you… you’d never have accepted it so… we kind of staged that ‘work for us thingy’. I know you, and I know that you’d say no at the beginning, but accept in the end, because you’ve got this big heart, B. So, once we forced you to take some days off, we’d give you the ticket and… surpriseee!”

For a moment, Bulma didn’t know what to say or do. One side of her felt angry, annoyed with Tights, because she always, always did those stupid things even knowing how much she hated surprises. Mostly because all her surprises ended up blowing up in her face. The other side, though, was grateful that it turned out to be just one of her crazy ideas. However, her eyes didn’t move away from Raditz, she didn’t know him, and in the past he had proven to be a bad apple. Therefore, she could not trust him. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want surprises? I need to work, T. I really do. And now look, I lo-” no, she couldn’t reveal that. Neither that she had lost her job, nor that Vegeta had forced _service work_ for him on her. She couldn’t involve Tights in her shit, and didn’t want Raditz to find out the details, admitted he didn’t know already.

“I loooove it.” She stretched a fake, excited smile on her face.

“You… love it?” Tights quirked a brow, “but you always said that you hated being a-”

“Well, people change their mind! You know what? I… believe Raditz. And I think you guys should go out and have a nice dinner together to make up, yeah?” She rose from her seat, and started to push her sister towards the door. 

“W-wait… but we didn’t have a figh-”

“Oh who cares! Just go, do something thrilling. Oh, go have sex in the park!”

“B-Bulma?”

“Come on Raditz, aren’t you always horny or something?” She spoke through her teeths, glaring at the man, who for some reason scrambled on his feet and reached them, taking Tights under his arm. 

“Sure!” He almost yelled, “I’m… yeah, let’s fuck outdoors tonight! Watcha say, babe?” 

“I-wha… wait?! Are you guys nuts or-”

“ _Please take me away from here before she changes her mind. I feel she’s going to cut off my head, if I so much as breathe in her vicinity again_.” He murmured, leaning closer to his girlfriend, something that Bulma heard very clearly, but decided to ignore for the sake of her plan.

“Fantastic! I’ll stay here for a little while, okay? I… uhm… have work to do on the laptop and need a wireless connection. Got none of that shit in my neighborhood. Have a good whatever!” She twitted, waving her hand and pushing both of them out of her hair.

Alone once again, she stood where she was for a while. “First things first, let’s hack into Raditz's info to see if he’s really clean. After that… I’m going to get a clue about the other bastard.” She pushed up the bridge of her glasses on her nose, “and when I have that, both of them will know what it means to mess with Bulma Briefs.”


	6. The one... with a fake house and stinky scotch

According to the schedule she'd pooched from her recent online scavenging, Mr. _Three Days_ was currently located in a mansion overhanging the sea. And this detail, that he'd picked this specific building, had given Bulma a rough idea of how far ahead the man had been planning this whole ordeal. 

The house was a white, egocentric piece of art, visible even immersed in the night and observed from afar. Downlights, strategically grooved in the stone, pointed at the panoramic balcony facing the reef, where he was boldly standing, wind whipping around his unusual hair, and glass in hand. 

Suspicion had started to rise within her yesterday, when she was fiddling with the company network. She had _accidentally_ stumbled upon his most recent timetable handed to his agency by his manager saying that Vegeta had a day off. That had led to her messing with the company billing details. And ironically, one of the last purchases facturated for the filming corporation was a house, situated in the southwest side of the island. Apparently, not a real abode, but some reproduction that was to be later used in a movie or something. That had been the clue. He wasn't expecting her call, at all. He was expecting _her_ in person.

The thought had made her innards knot, awakening the flare of anger she had carefully tried to bury under layers of pride. She should just… let it all go. Probably give the man the fucking money he wanted and tell him to fuck off. But again, that'd be giving up on what she so hardly managed to build up in all these years. 

"Ugh, motherfucker…" her hands closed around the steering wheel as the air in the rented car felt suddenly stuffy. It had been thirty minutes. She had been parked on the side of the promenade for too damn long to not be noticed and that just confirmed the suspicion that he was waiting for her to show up. 

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with courage and finally opened the car door. 

_Don't forget,_ she told herself, burrowing in her too-long scarf, _don't forget why you're here._ Her lips pursed into a thin line, discoloring the pink around the edges. She puffed out her chest and raised her chin, walking towards the house.

\---

The dull ghost of stars crumpled into monotonous waves against the breakwater, reproducing a sound he had started to loathe in his few months of permanence on that island. He watched it through the swiveling liquor in the glass, not really paying attention to it. His attention was focused elsewhere, on the blurry landscape of glittering city lights far ahead, on the other side of the island. Whilst the crackling echo of an upcoming storm boomed in the distance, the electronic voice of the automation system announced the presence of someone at the door. 

He didn't even turn around, proclaiming an unbothered "let her in." Along with the tide lapping at the stone, now there was the hint of an angry stride tapping on the polished floor. It stopped at the threshold of the terrace. 

" _Congratulations_ " he said, sipping the last remains of liquor in the glass, "you live up to your infamous name." Just in the end he finally bothered to move and turn around, leaning his back against the parapet. 

They were finally vis-a-vis, albeit she lingered at least ten feet away; looking at him with the most disrespectful scowl he'd ever seen. It didn't bother him. Intimidation was a skill he had honed like acting, it was just natural seeing the effect of it on others.

"You took the words out of my mouth," she spat, sarcastically, crossing her arms in front of her chest and deepening the marked line above her eyes. A rash whisper of wind fleeted between them, tousling the incriminating bob of blue strands on her head. She tamed the rebel tuft behind her ear, inclining her face forward as if she was trying to appear bigger than she was. "Let's talk _business._ "

Vegeta observed her for a long time, detaching his back from the railing and walking, slowly, toward her. Lights grazed her lithe, tense form, whose musculature stretched harder at each one of his steps. "Sit." He whispered, practical, passing her to enter the house. 

She must have noticed by now, the almost total absence of furniture in the mansion. Just a sofa and a short table were the spectators of their transaction. On top of the latter sat an envelope and a stylo. 

She didn't follow him immediately. He felt her gaze on him, though, on his back. But ignored it. 

"You put on quite the suggestive show. Should I expect to be shown to some secret dungeon full of whips and dildos?" 

Vegeta stopped mid-walk, unexpectedly feeling heat crawl up his neck and lobes at the debasing comment. Which he repelled immediately, straightening up his spine and retrieving his pace, smoothly. And smoothly he also bent forward, placing the empty glass on the low table and moving his gaze on her again. "You seem confused about what kind of business we're going to discuss here. But if you're willing to audition for x-rated movies as a secondary job, I can point you to the right people." 

Oh, that was undoubtedly satisfying. Seeing her face crumple in front of his smirk, looking at how her eyes started to widen but drooped in acrimonious slits instead, how her nostrils flared, and how her nasty mouth cut into a neurotic, condescending smile. "I'm **sure** of _that._ " She talked through her teeth and dropped stiffly on the sofa, staring at the envelope.

"That's your contract. Read it." 

\---

"I see you don't mess around, so _efficient."_ Shooting a dirty glare at him, she grabbed the envelope and ripped off the edges, pulling out the so-called 'contract.' 

Blue irises ran fast over the lines, occasionally jumping to Vegeta and back on the contract again. Until she paused, rereading the same word thrice. "Are you…are…" she looked up, noticing that he had barely cocked a brow at her befuddlement, "you can't be serious!"

"Dead." Was the only word he offered, as she tried to decipher if what she was reading in his indistinct expression could be masterfully concealed sarcasm or outright madness. 

"You want me to be your **_manager_**." She started to untangle the scarf from around her neck hurriedly.

"It's black on white, isn't it?" He let out, unaffected.

"You understand that I know absolutely **nothing about** this, right?" Her counter came out almost strangled, as she slapped away the bothering scarf like a poisonous serp and stood up.

"Tragical. Not an issue, though." The asshole moved from his current location, reaching for an unlabeled bottle on a nearby shelf.

"How's that **not** an issue?" She couldn't believe _him,_ or the _noose_ he was self-wrapping around the neck of his own job! It wasn't an issue for her. Of course it wasn't. She could just accept and sit wherever she had to sit and watch as the debacle of his career slowly unfolded before her eyes. Still, something was there, bothering her. That little, tedious worm that suggested, whispered, _knew…_ this wasn't all there was to it. "You can't really expect me to believe-"

"Go on with the reading instead of asking useless questions." He took the bottle with him and moved toward the sofa, where he sat, on the farthest corner. 

"Maybe I wasn't clear… I'm not going on to read this _unless_ you respond to my useless questions." She rebuked.

He didn't even look at her, when he said "you sign that, you have your responses." 

She hated his guts. She hated his self-conceited attitude, she hated everything that man was and had just spoken to him thrice in a week. How could he possibly expect her to work for him? She had to try a different approach, otherwise, they'd end up staying there all night long. Of course she could walk away, but then he'd drag her into a fucking court! "I see where this is going…" she started, faking a knowing, languid timbre. "If I sign this form, you get to have me doing whatever you want. Right?" 

She took the documents with her and turned slowly, making sure to shake her hips in the process. "I understand that it would be _a problem_ if people saw you with me in _different circumstances_ …" 

She watched him, mindful to try to get him to _watch in turn._

And he did, as the sound of her voice suddenly lost temper, mitigating into softer undertones, his eyes moved away from the glass, raising to meet hers. She tried to ignore his lack of response, which, as pressuring as it was, wasn't going to balk her. The slightest bob of his Adam's apple, _that,_ on the contrary, encouraged her to go on. 

"You don't strike me as someone who'd jeopardize his career just for _meaningless foreplay…_ " she sat in front of him, on the low table, mindful to cross her taut legs with as much grace as possible. It didn't matter if she was clad in denims, what mattered was that her back, with that simple motion would straighten up and push her chest forward, showing the barest hint of lace through her open cardigan.

He was a tough player, because he didn't budge, his dark irises stayed on hers for a few seconds before dropping on the table, on the glass, near her butt more precisely. She noticed that, and interjected his intentions, picked it up and showed it to him. "Mind _sharing that_ at least? I'm thirsty." She shook the glass in front of her, nodding at the bottle still in his hands. 

"Yes, I do." His right leg shifted, mimicking her previous gesture whilst he pressed himself into the backrest, relaxing his shoulders as if what he was watching was going to amuse him.

She bit back a _fuck you,_ replacing it with a mellow "come on. If we're going to _work together,_ a bit of acclimatization won't hurt." Like shoving that bottle up his ass and enjoying him screaming. 

"That won't be necessary," the corner of his mouth accentuated its curve, moving upwards, "I don't fraternize with my _subordinates._ " He brought the neck of the bottle to his lips, probably trying to make his point clear.

"Oh but _this_ and _that_ have a totally different meaning in a dictionary," she dared as she put her finger between his mouth and the bottle, _gently_ coaxing the latter toward her lifted glass. 

He didn't like that, she saw it in the way his eyebrows lifted and sank on his forehead at her unexpected action, and she exalted inwardly in her accomplishment. His eyelids thinned, but curiously enough, he didn't stop her, letting her fill the glass. 

"See? Two _colleagues can_ _share...stuff..._ I don't know, maybe to seal a deal?" She licked her upper lip, bringing the glass near her mouth. That stuff stank. Stank in a horrible way. Of various degrees of alcohol and expensive scotch, something that even her father would open, just in the rarest of occasions. Just the odor made her retch, but again, she didn't yield. She sipped it, scrunching her nose.

"I usually prefer my deals sealed with a signature." 

Okay, this was starting to seriously get to her in the worst possible way. Was he a fucking android? _You must have a dick under that infinite pile of bullshit, man._

" _Good._ Let's gamble my signature over this shit then." She chugged down the liquor in one single swing, shivering at the ugly trail of fire it left in her throat.

Now, _that,_ seemed to finally take the man aback. "Gamble?" His black brow rose quizzically, almost dismayed.

"Yep. Let's see if you can hold your share, buddy. I might seem a frail lady but this dude here," she patted her stomach, "it's ironwelded." 

Vegeta observed her in silence, with the most contrived and judging expression she'd ever seen before today.

However…

"Interesting." He moved forward, detaching his back from the sofa. He clinked the bottle on the glass she was holding. "I have never lost a bet."

Bulma smirked. "Worry not, _I'll be gentle_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Blackswan22 for proofreading the chapter. ❤️


	7. That time with Makeshift Cards

"It should be there, pull over. Pull over here, Raditz!" 

"Yeah, yeah I heard you but leave the goddamn handbrake alone!" 

This chick was a menace on the streets, and _yet_ there were people wondering why she didn't have a license. In the fifteen minutes drive she had made him pull the brake at every stop, and whilst he could understand the reason; risking his life in the attempt to - maybe - save another one, was pure madness. "You have to calm the fuck down, okay? I'm sure it's all fine. She was slurring." 

"That's why I can't calm down!? My sister just called me, in the middle of the night asking for help! How can you be so insensitive? I'm sooo gonna break up with you!" 

Raditz sighed, kicking the car door open. "You have already broken up with me sixteen times, in the course of _one_ hour." He passed a hand over his face, massaging his eyelids to wake up, half of his brain was still asleep and his other half didn't know what was going on. He yawned, and finally stepped out of the car with Tights in tow. Well, _first_ in tow, then literally flash stepping in the middle of the street like a panicked deer. "Wait, wait! I think we attempted enough suicide for one night don't you think? Tights!" 

But the woman was like a fucking bullet train, once gone, she was gone for good. If she hadn't such a nice ass, he wouldn't have messed with a _Briefs_ in the first place. They should put ' _warning, atomic weapon inside'_ on that sexy package of hormones. He shook his head, following her towards the mansion. But he stalled, as he approached the building, noticing another silhouette standing in front of Tights, springing up from the shadows.

They were talking heatedly, and gesturing, and the more he got near, the bigger the figure yelling at his partner looked like. "What the fuck…" he didn't think twice, something skittered inside him - incensing his other senses and inflaming his chest and neck. The next thing he knew, he was pushing her behind him and puffing out his chest in the other man’s face. "Problem buddy?" He bristled, grabbing a hold of his collar and pulling him close enough to leer right in his eyes.

The other man grabbed his wrist, but blocked what was probably a dawning hook instantaneously. "What the fuck? Raditz?" 

"Nappa?" 

They made a face at each other, and then turned around simultaneously, towards Tights, who was ignoring them while trying to lift up a big stone to breach in the house.

"Wohoo, stop right there crazy woman!"

"Nononono, we ain't breaking shit tonight. Put that down, hon."

Whilst Raditz ran behind her and tried grabbing the rock from her hands, Nappa hurled himself on the front, like a sort of awkward goalie. 

"Bulma is in there and she's in danger, you assholes! Stop cockblocking me!"

"Will you control your woman?" The manager sizzled.

"Will you shut the fuck up, you bald fuck!" She countered, showing she still had a firm grip on the rock.

"What the hell are you doing here Nappa?"

"That's my line, man?! I'm here to _guard_ the house you're _trying to break in_!'

"Well, her sister is in there and possibly-"

"Surely!" Tights intervened.

"She's in danger. She called her, babbling about a motherfucker who was trying get on her or something-"

"Who? _Vegeta_?" The man chortled, tilting his head backward and holding his sides. But then he clamped his moustached mouth shut, as if he wasn't supposed to say that.

" _Vegeta_?" They said in unison. 

"You mean _that_ Vegeta is our 'alleged assailant'?" Raditz continued, bursting into a bellowing laugh and blatantly ignoring Tights shocked - and confused - expression. 

She stood there, slowly putting down the rock still in her hands. "Are you two nuts…?" It was a whisper, but it sounded like she had somehow calmed down.

"No, no… it's just… _Vegeta_. _You know?_ I mean, it's more probable he's the one being in a pinch right now, rather than _your sis_. I mean, knowing the _characters-_ "

"I don't give a damn!" Tights howled, " **You,** gorilla! Open up this door or I'll make your laughing friend, turn that bald head of yours into a fucking ram."

Nappa shrieked in his shoulders, and then looked over at Raditz, mouthing ' _feisty'_ under his breath.

"Believe me, the one inside is thousand times worse. If you don't unlock that door asap we might find a million zeni corpse and I warn you; _she can turn a burger into a weapon._ "

"Yuck. Well, I was expressly ordered not to go inside until told otherwise. Can't go against Vegeta. You know _how he is_." Nappa crossed his arms, standing tall in front of the door.

Raditz shrugged, "whatever floats your boat, man, but look," he nodded in Tights' direction, "she picked up the rock again."

"Oh fuck! Okay! Don't break the window. I don't get enough money to repay that." He pointed at Raditz, "but _you_ get full responsibility for this. I'm _so not_ going to get the toll of Vegeta's wrath." Surrendering to the idea he was going to get it anyway, his ex comrade went on and swiped a magnetic card on the doorknob. As soon as the thing clicked open, signaling the door ajar, Tights flung herself inside; crying out her sister's name, like a mother who had lost her child in a supermarket.

He and Nappa followed her, awkwardly walking side to side in the mansion. 

"So, what the hell is Bulma doing here?" Raditz queried, raising a skeptical brow.

"Can't say, dude. It's my job." He shook his head, pocketing his hands.

When they both reached Tights in the living room, or what looked like one, she was standing in the middle of it; as if paralyzed or something.

A few feet away, were Bulma and Vegeta; sitting on the floor and around a low laquered table, definitely… drunk and… half… naked?

"And this is a fucking _flush,_ woman" Vegeta slammed four pieces of doodled paper on the table; his shirt was totally amiss and three bottles of _something_ rolled over, near his feet, "this is _my win._ Fair and square."

Bulma, on the other side of the demonic table, was on her knees, wiggling her butt in her panties - which Raditz tried to dodge for the sake of his relationship - and with her shirt still on. "Eat my shit, rat ass. That's not a king, it's a garden of flowers!"

"You don't even know what the hell you draw! How's that flowers? Looks more like a crown to me. _My crown_ , because I'm evidently setting fire to your ass here." 

"What the fuck… is going on here?" Nappa queried, since nobody else had spoken a word yet. 

"Looks like strip poker to me. Minus the poker." Raditz continued, still rejecting the idea of the wiggling ass.

Tights tilted her head and squeezed her eyes. "Are those… cards?"

"Toilet paper." Nappa guessed, nodding to himself.

"You're a total fuckingasscheater! Give that contract back!" Bulma this time stood up abruptly, wobbling her way around the table and throwing herself on Vegeta like dead-weight. They fell on the floor, rolling on it. "You tricked me into signing it!" The blue haired psycho shouted, whilst her hand tried to reach Vegeta's arm, that was in turn holding another - larger - piece of paper in his fist and flapping it away from her. 

"Do we uhm…" Nappa tried, glancing in their direction, "stop them now or keep watching? Because I'd like to sit down in that ca-" 

"You fucking bitch!" The hollow _thud_ that cut off Nappa belonged to Bulma's knee, which seemed to have caught the other screaming bitch in the fried lambs, _again_.

Both him and Nappa hissed at the same time, squeezing their eyes in mute sympathy. 

"Ow, that man really needs a _jock._ " Raditz whispered, "think it's time to get them off of each other before Vegeta gets castrated."

Tights let out her hand, stopping Raditz. "Let her have it." 

"Are you serious? Where's all your heroic enthusiasm gone?" 

"Shut up, she's winning. Go, Bulma! Drill on those balls!" She cheered, raising her hand like a football aficionado. 

"Your woman is _scary_." Nappa commented, stepping back a little. 

Raditz leaned slantwise, toward Nappa and smirked sloppily, shrugging "what can I say man? I like them hot and dominant." 

Just then, the fighting duo seemed to finally notice the presence of the intruders in the room. For some reason they were both glaring at them, more specifically, Vegeta was half dying - still trying to retain some dignity while holding his jewels in a fetal position - and half sneering at Nappa. Bulma just tore the piece of paper from Vegeta's grasp and stalked toward her sister like a Valkyrie on the warpath. 

"Took you long enough, uh?" She poked her finger on Tights' chest, hardly able to stand up on her own. "I had my ass in a sling here."

"Doesn't look like that to me." Tights commented, quirking a brow, "I mean… you should _definitely_ put your pants on, but your ass looks sound as a peach to me." 

"Well, no. That…" she pointed at Vegeta, who in that moment was slapping away Nappa's hand from trying to help him on his feet, "that asshole there! You know what he did, uh? He gave me a job!"

" _What a piece of shit._ " Raditz observed, with dried sarcasm. 

"No! I mean… I… ugh… need to throw up." 

"Not in the house! Not in the house!" Nappa yelled, from afar. "Take her outside, for God's sake!" 

Tights took her under her arm, "come on honey, I'm going to make you a steamy cup of… water, I guess… and you'll be as good as new."

On the other side of the room, Raditz heard Vegeta order Nappa to retrieve the stolen contract. Intrigued, he pilfered it from Bulma on her way out. She didn't even notice, too occupied trying not to puke her eyes out on the floor.

He walked towards the other two men, fanning himself with the stolen document and dragging the immediate attention, of the both of them, on him.

"Yo, super star. How fare thee in the spotlight?" The flame-haired boy seemed not to take his greeting well. He bristled at him, and Raditz _preened._ "It's good to see you show your true colors once in a while, always so cold and stiffy. But I get you want the thing I have in my hand, don't you?"

"Leave that on the table and get your ass out of this house." He gritted his teeth, "now."

"This isn't your old haydays, _your highness._ As you can see, I _don't_ obey you anymore. Nappa on the other hand, looks still keen to lick your ass." He moved his gaze on the bald guy, who finally started to show him his teeth.

"I know your head, and I know how you move your paws. This time, _though_ , I'm playing the tower." He lifted the contract in both his hands, starting to rip it off. "And you won't mess with my woman, or her family. How does it feel Vegeta? Am I still _useless now_?"

The shorter man straightened his back and moved slowly towards him, the shadow projected on the floor, magnified his otherwise minute frame; making the man seem bigger than he was. "Yes." He responded, without a shred of hesitancy. "On the other hand, the blood of your blood revealed to be extremely helpful, without knowing it." 

Raditz's eyes widened. "Kakarot? What the hell does he have to do with _you_?"

As Vegeta jerked his chin, a moment later, the document was slipping out of his hand and into Nappa's grasp.

"Nothing." Vegeta turned his back, his tipsiness gone, as it never existed in the first place. He turned over his shoulder just for a fraction; a warning glare glazed his piercing gaze. "I won't mess with your woman. If you don't mess with _mine_." 

"What the hell do you-"

Nappa put a hand on his chest, shaking his head. "Trust him." He said, in a whisper. " _This time,_ do it."


	8. When the sheep hunts the wolf - PART I

Fuzzy, dizzy and hurting like a bitch was the state of her head when she dared open her eyes to the glaring and impious blades of morning light. She tried to move, just to discover her limbs trapped under other limbs. Tights' legs were wrapped around hers in a tight fleshy vise, and the upper side of her body was twisted on the other side. Bulma grimaced and propped herself on her elbows just to discover, throwing a glance a bit further away, that _Raditz_ was lying on the other side of the bed with her sister's face tucked under his arm. 

Freezing for a second, a thousand degrees of awkwardness filled up her body together with a new rush of nausea. Did she really want to know how they all ended up in a bed together? Nope. Not now. Pushing herself toward the edge of the bed was a better idea, even if it meant dragging Tights with her until the other's legs finally gave out and untwisted from her. Her sister let out a whimpering sigh, stretched out her legs and flipped completely toward Raditz, seeking warmth in his arms. 

For a moment, Bulma observed, crossing her arms and tilting her head. Maybe she had bared the hard scythe of judgment too fast on Raditz's neck. He and Tights really seemed… comfortable somehow, around each other. Even though it sounded like they spent more time in bed than actually talking. 

_Speaking of which, how did I end up in Tights' bed, again?_ Fragments of the night before swirled in her head in a chaotic way, but the details still failed to reach the hurting mess now pressed between her hands. 

The soft padding of slippers moved in tune with the low buzzing of the refrigerator and the plicking of water, toward which she moved, filled a glass and popped an ibuprofen tab in her mouth. Swallowing, she sat on the sofa and threw her head backward on the headrest. The silence around her - interrupted from time to time just from the crooning of distant seagulls - was soothing, oh so soothing. 

Humming a song, she tried to lull herself back to sleep. _Hmmm, what was the name of the song… again? Camp of… no, field of Mars? Not quite that._

 _"_ Ah, sure…" she mumbled, crouching in the softness of the pillows, "garden of…"

It was an epiphany; her eyes shot open reliving, as it was right in front of her, the tiny crumbs of information that were finally starting to piece themselves together, retracing the blurred stages of the previous hellish night. Rhum. Scribbling on toilet paper. Vegeta stripping off in front of her. Her stripping off in front of him. Poker. Garden of flowers. Contract…

"The contract!" She sprung up from the sofa, almost tripping on her feet. Like a hurricane she picked up all the cushions, tossing them behind her back.

And apparently hitting her waking sister straight in the face.

"Morning…" Tights mumbled, walking in the open-plan area while the fluffy square centered her left eye. "And ow," she added, apathetically.

Bulma interjected her in her frantic investigation. "Tights! Purse! My purse. Where did you put it?!" 

"Mhhh…? Don't know. Maybe in my room." She scanned the little kitchen. "No coffee?"

" **Who cares about coffee? Help me find that damn bag**!"

Tights crinkled her brows, putting both her hands on her hips. "You better not start a pillow fight with me or anything at all. I and Raditz babysat you until _five in the morning_ while you whined and cursed Vegeta, sitting _on my bed._ So could you be a little more grateful and less bitchy?!'

"Sure, sorry and thanks 'bout that but, at the moment, I've got more _pressing matters_ at hand… like finding the contract that asshole made my sign _against my will._ " 

Tights paused. Then _oh'ed._

Bulma stopped hurling the cushions around. "Oh?" She repeated, turning to frame Tights suspicious, crumpled expression. "What does 'oh' means?"

"Nothing. I... well…" 

Bulma felt all the heat on her face drain away the moment Tights veered her gaze away and started to tinker with the coffee machine.

"Please…" her forehead met her palm, fingers run through her hair, "please, tell me that I _still have that contract._ "

"No doll," Raditz stepped in the room, dragging a long sigh along with his words. The sound of his steps played a dance macabre to her ears. "Vegeta has it… and it's kinda my fault." 

\---

Half an hour of yelling later, she was out in the streets. Her head still hurt and her body felt like an ogre had devoured her, chewed up her tasteless flesh and spat her out. Like an automaton, she took the subway and got off at the last stop whose dooming, neon label made her skin crawl: **III's Island Studios.** _The Kingdom of Mephistopheles' spawn,_ she mentally added.

It was like walking in a little town within a town, with its own hotels and shops; wires sneaking everywhere underfoot and everything englobed into a sort of dome-shaped glasshouse. Bulma walked through the variegated buildings, nose up in the air, but with max unenthusiasm. It was, without a doubt, a see-through and bigger version of Capsule Corporation. 

The structure of every single house or edifice from West City to the Islands was modeled after her father's architecture. So, it was nothing new. Completely unoriginal. 

The central street was paved with imported marbles, one could sniff miles away from the entrance how ostentatious and try-hard the man that had created that empire was. She looked over her shoulder, raising a suspicious brow at the total absence of human security in that place and how easy it was to breach in the dome with the simple use of somebody else's pass.

 _"Take this."_ Raditz had said, showing her the tacky golden card that now was bouncing against her chest. _"This is the passe-partout to the main door. From there, you can access just the first stage of the building. To reach Vegeta, without warning him, you must get someone to 'escort' you. Me? Nope. I was kicked outta there a long time ago."_

He hadn't added much else, but she didn't care. In the end, he might not have sold her to Vegeta the first time; but did it now. The silver lining to her cloud was, however, that now she had a valid excuse to give _the other motherfucker_ a piece of her mind. 

But first, she had to find _her chicken_ . Feigning to take a stroll around the compound, she scanned the area attentively through her sunglasses, in search of a man - or a woman - clueless enough to fall for her charms. Her head was wrapped in a colorful shawl, so to hide her hair to possible indiscreet eyes. So camouflaged, she could easily pass for a star that didn't want to get recognized. _Which wasn't that far from reality._

She walked for a while, running in a circle among fancy bars and perfumed women. In the end, after thirty wasted minutes, she dropped on a bench. Tired and hungry. 

"Am I really on the same damn island? Feels like a whole different _country_!" She lamented, wiping the sweat from her forehead. The difference in temperature between outside and _outside_ was absurd. It felt like summer in here. In fact, all the 'fancy' VIPS trotted around basically half-naked to show off their perfect, unmarred bodies and artificial tans. 

She loathed being part of all of that, she too was… _had been_ \- on the other side of her coin - a carnivorous showoff. She breathed out and, in doing so, her gaze fell on one of the many big screens broadcasting trailers and whatnot. 

One was running a commercial, one of those _overly dreamy_ thingies where the fakest and beautiful people were put together to advertise a stupid brand of food. However, seeing that mouth-watering mozzarella falling sooo slowly on a beautiful black plate made her drool a bit. Her stomach protested, too.

The camera moved onto the mouth of a guy, that was slurping the stretchy, soft cheese from a slice of pizza with gusto.

She didn't imagine, though, that today would be the day she experimented her first stroke.

When the camera zoomed out and moved to a wide-angled shot, it took in the jolly face of a person she knew **all too well.**

She jumped out of the bench and on her feet. 

A blond CG girl-slash-block-of-cheese ran toward him, shouting a 'honey, put me on your pizza!' kind of line. And the man in question responded with a childish, hearty laugh. He took the animated cheese in his arms and spun her... _it…_ in the air, twirling on a _too_ green clearing. " _Mozza_ **_BELLA_** ," he shouted "the princess of my stomach." Then turned to the camera, winking, "and yours!"

The line of her shoulders fell, and so did she, on the bench with all her weight. It was impossible not to recognize him. Even though the last time she'd seen that man he was a fourteen years old kid, that hair cut was _unmistakable_. That was Son. _Son Goku._ She had no doubt. 

Her hands shook. It wasn't just Raditz, Tights and Vegeta anymore that knew her in this place. There was a fourth person that she would have never dreamed including in the picture. And now, now she could see it, the trail that started from her and ended with Vegeta.

 _Son._

She had to know _how_ and why. And the only person that could give her that response, was at the top of that building. 

"Good evening, missus. Are you in trouble?" 

Hearing that sudden voice so close made her whip her face slantwise. It belonged to a smiling, short old man, clad in a black suit. He leaned on an old cane. She couldn't parse his features because half of his face, besides a white goatee, was completely ensconced behind a pair of large, red sunglasses.

"Uh. No… I'm…" she stared at him, then glanced at the main building, and back to the man again. 

"Actually…" her mouth curved into a docile, naive line. "Yes. I'm… new. It's my first day here and I was told to meet with my boss at the top floor of that building but… I don't know how to go there. Could you…maybe..." she bent slightly forward, pursing her lips innocently. "Escort me there?" 

The man seemed to study her, the way he tilted his head and raised a brow, indicated that he was searching for something. Probably she looked sketchy. She accommodated herself so that her chest would face him enough so that the golden pass around her neck glistened against the vernal sun. 

If he noticed that or not, the old man didn't show it. Instead he nodded, "Sure, follow me." 

She tried to contain her mounting exhilaration behind a morigerate bow of the head. This was the enemy field, and as such, she was going to play by their rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to the fantastic Rogue_1102 for betaing this chapter.


End file.
